peering over white-topped peaks
like childhood's hunchbacked monsters
waiting there to pounce.
Shadows lick the creviced slopes
as white and green become grey
lights flash behind the drawn shades
of ominous clouds.
Darkness pours into valleys
where rows of birches waver
as if nervously laughing
on the river shore.
the storm growls and cracks and snaps
and the landscape disappears
behind wind and rain.
God’s angry swords slash the dark
each plunge deep with loud report
and all bow at its’ advance,
some shatter and fall.
Gone now, like it never came,
still grumbling as it departs
to disturb more peaceful scenes
beyond the valley.
Halfway up the mountainside
the sun plays at the tree line,
below, a more peaceful grey
ushers in the night.